


As I See You Again And Again

by still_lycoris



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Self-Harm, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1459411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avon can't help but remember each anniversary of Anna's death and each time it hurts in a slightly different way ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	As I See You Again And Again

The first anniversary of Anna’s death, he was in a holding cell, waiting to head to Cygnus Alpha.

The date was indelibly marked on his brain. He fought the urge to dwell on it, tried to block his mind every time it threw images of Anna at him. He would not think of the way she looked when she laughed, the way her mouth opened wide, the way her eyes squeezed up and glittered. He wouldn’t think of the sound either, there was no place for joy or happiness here. He wouldn’t think of her words, her hands, the way she’d kissed him …

He had failed her twice, her physical self and her memory. He couldn’t even live in comfort for her, he would die on a cold rock millions of miles from where she had breathed her last, millions of miles from where the people who had killed her still lived and laughed and loved …

He wanted to be dead. He had never wanted it so strongly in his life; a cold drenching desire to finish it, to put himself out of his misery now. He knew he wouldn’t be with her, there was no such thing as an afterlife, no happy ever after, she was dead and he would be dead but it would be _over_ , it would be _done_. He didn’t want to go to Cygnus Alpha, he didn’t want to be surrounded by these snoring, grunting animals, he wanted to be _free_.

He was actually sitting up, fumbling at the sheets, half-thinking of making a noose when someone caught hold of him gently in the dark. He immediately went still, looking to see his captor. The large man that had been bought in earlier, who had been quiet and looked strangely sad.

“Don’t do it,” he whispered now, his voice low. “They don’t like it when people try to avoid justice like that. They’ll only do worse to you. They _can_ do worse, believe me.”

His hand was calloused from work, he stroked Avon’s wrist a little, a clumsy gesture that Avon actually found almost comforting.

“Just get through the night. It’ll be better in the morning. Perhaps it won’t be so bad out there. We won’t be alone, at least.”

Avon wanted to tell him that it would be better to be alone than with these idiots, that when the suppressants wore off everybody on the planet, they would probably wish desperately that they had died on-route, that there was nothing to hope for and that his kindly cell mate was a fool. But the interruption had quelled his immediate desires and all he felt now was exhaustion. He lay back down and closed his eyes, allowing himself to wallow in thoughts of Anna until he finally slept.

It didn’t seem quite so hopeless in the morning. His mind was working again, thinking of plans, ideas, ways out. He was not dead, it was not the end and he would think of something, get away from this fate, even if it meant killing everybody aboard the _London_.

Of course, Blake had plans too. Avon didn’t quite meant to get sucked into them but Blake was correct that Avon’s only idea had flaws. And he was glad, in a way. Blake’s little group were a motley band of fools but Olag Gan was amongst them and although neither of them ever mentioned it, Avon knew that Gan had been the man who had saved his life.

*

By the second anniversary of Anna’s death, he was quite used to life aboard the _Liberator_. Not necessarily happy with every aspect of it, but used to it. The ship was beautiful, his crew mates … sometimes adequate. He had money, well, the ship had money but it was there for the taking really. And if he had the ship itself, well, he need never worry about money or security ever again. 

Of course, he’d probably have to get Blake off the ship first.

Blake. The man drove him to distraction sometimes. Not content with their luck, no, he had to insist on attempting to bring down the Federation and no matter how obviously futile this goal was, he continued to attempt it, dragging all of them along with him. Not that the others seemed to mind very much. Cally was a genuine freedom fighter who cared about Blake’s cause. At first, he’d thought Jenna was just in love with the man but there seemed to be other things at work there, her own anger at her arrest perhaps, the suffering of her family. Vila just followed, a loyal sheep to whoever he thought would protect him. Gan seemed to believe what Blake told him, went along with it because of that. There was a genuinely good streak in the man that Avon felt Blake exploited.

Avon did not follow Blake. He walked with Blake for now because for now, it seemed the safest place to be.

Oh, he _missed_ Anna. She would have understood, he was sure of that, she would have been at his side against Blake, they could have made plans, they could have been rich and happy the way he’d wanted them to be, the way they _should_ have been …

This time, missing her made him angry. Hate boiled in him, black, sickening hate that he couldn’t seem to shift. He wanted to _do_ something, make something real, show Anna that he missed her, still loved her – but she was dead, she couldn’t see it, he was being a fool and the knowledge that he was being a fool made him angrier still. He paced mindlessly, his mind tumbling through the childish and petty ways he could mark the event; place flowers somewhere, light candles, pray to an empty cold space that did not care. He wanted to scream at somebody, wanted them to understand, wanted it to matter, to mean something, wanted Anna to _exist_ but they wouldn’t understand, he knew that, they would none of them understand and then they would use the information against him, had a part of him that should never be shared, he couldn’t tell them, he _couldn’t_.

When it got too much, he punched the wall in his room, bruising his knuckles, watching with loathing as the auto-repair got to work on the dents immediately, erasing everything as though it had never been.

_No, she was real. She was **real** and she was **mine** and she **existed!**_

He grabbed a probe from his work counter, dug it deep into the flesh of his arm and watched the red blood trickle over white skin. With it came trickled of exhaustion and regret. What a pointless thing to do, almost as pointless as the flowers or the candles would have been. 

But all the same, he did not go to have _Liberator_ patch the wound up, heal it as though it had never been. He washed and bandaged it, hid it from the others, watched it closely as slowly, the skin healed, knitting gently into a soft, ridged little scar that nobody else would ever understand, even if they saw it.

*

The third anniversary, he found himself obsessed with sex.

Oh, he had felt it coming on a while, a touch of loneliness, even jealousy when he watched other people together. The occasional dream of being in bed with someone, sudden flickers of memory, old bed partners, old pleasures. Waking up to a slow, drowsy arousal which left him rocking at the mattress, seeking contact that wasn’t really there.

But realising the date, realising it had been three years – more than three years – suddenly, it was there, blazing through him, desperate. He wanted someone, wanted to hold and touch and be touched in return. He had never considered himself to be terribly interested in sex but suddenly, he craved it. Anna’s memory wasn’t enough, his body _wanted_ , just once, just a brief embrace even, a warm touch, a kiss … oh, suddenly a kiss seemed like it would be heaven, something to drown in, he wouldn’t have to think, he could just _have_ …

He would have taken any of them. He fantasised about all of them; smothered in Jenna’s blonde hair, bound in Cally’s long arms, playing with Vila, consumed by Blake. He found himself leaving his cabin, wandering the ship, almost seeking, half-hoping he’d find one of them, that they might be open to it, willing to be touched …

He found Blake on the flight deck, leaning over Orac, staring vaguely into the distance. He looked lonely and Avon felt a stir inside him.. Would it be so wrong? Perhaps it would be better for both of them to have someone for a while, to hold each other and not to be alone …

“Blake?” His voice sounded wrong in his own throat. “Blake …?”

“What do you want, Avon?” Blake sounded weary. “If it’s another fight, you can just go and save it until tomorrow. I’ve had enough of warring today.”

“Well, I’m sorry my concern for our lives tires you so!” he snapped before he could help it. “I thought having lost one follower, you’d be anxious to make sure your obsessions don’t take any others!”

Blake turned to him, pale with fury and they began yet another argument which Avon ended by leaving the flight deck, burning with a cold that oozed deep inside him. To think, to think he’d embraced weakness like that, to think he’d almost let himself bed _Blake_ , it was madness. He did not _need_ , he never needed, he wouldn’t betray Anna’s memory with any of them, not ever.

Blake apologised to him the next day, conciliatory words that Avon accepted with rudeness, as he knew Blake would expect him to. He knew his moment of stupidity had passed unmarked and was glad of it. It would never have worked, only made things worse.

The next planet they landed on, he slipped away from the others for a while, found somebody willing and took them. It was a cold, unsatisfactory encounter and Avon reminded himself that sex was usually like that. It wasn’t worth missing.

*

He chose very carefully where he would be for the fourth anniversary.

He would need all his strength to survive until they brought Shrinker to him, he knew that. Need every reminder of what he was resisting for. There would be pain, there would be hunger, there would be drugs that would confuse him. He needed his mind sharp and clear, his intent would be the fire that would keep him safe until Shrinker was at his side and the others could come for him. Knowing that it was the anniversary of Anna’s death would remind him, fuel him, spur him.

He told Cally that when she came again to try and talk him out of it, to try and convince him that revenge was wrong, that _he_ was wrong. He found himself telling her too much, telling her about the pain and the loss and the way every anniversary had burned inside him until he had thought he couldn’t bear it any more.

“It will _end!_ ” he said, almost desperate and hating that it showed in his voice. “This way, it will _end_ , it will be _done!_ ”

“It will never end, Avon,” she said quietly. “You will still love her, still miss her, she will still be gone. Killing the people you hold responsible will only add darkness to her death.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, it will bring light. You don’t understand, Cally.”

“No,” she agreed sadly. “I don’t. You’re wrong, Avon. This … vengeance, it can only bring pain to you. It will not help.”

But she was wrong, he _knew_ she was wrong. As he lay on the table, pain wracking his body, refusing to give his name to the people who constantly demanded it, he thought of Anna, thought of her cleverness and her beauty and the way she’d made him feel. Thought about the cave Vila had prepared, thought about how finally, finally it would be done and he would have avenged her, that they would all suffer for punishing her when she had done nothing except love him. Soon, soon Shrinker would come, Shrinker would come and it would all be over.

And Shrinker came. And it was all over.

But it had been Cally who was right, not him.

*

He didn’t notice the fifth anniversary when it went by. He had a new anniversary to note, now.

*

The first anniversary of Anna’s death – the _real_ first anniversary of Anna’s death – he was in bed with Vila, unable to sleep. His mind was spinning, as it often was now. He wanted to rest but he couldn’t stop thinking, planning, turning over everything in his mind. And much as he loathed it, much as he loathed _himself_ for it, he kept thinking of Anna, remembering seeing her again, the cold ice of it, the slow sunburst of knowledge. She had lied to him. It had all been a lie. Every memory that he had cherished was a black, hollow shell of nothing. Every dream he’d had, a bubble of delusion, popped into nothingness. He had grieved and suffered and she had lived and laughed.

She had betrayed him.

Everybody betrayed you.

The thought was sour, curdling his stomach. He shuddered, clutched at Vila, shook him to bleary consciousness.

“Vila. Vila, will you ever betray me?”

“You woke me up to ask me that?” Vila was the height of sleepy indignation. “Don’t be stupid, Avon. Go to sleep, would you? You’re getting bags under your eyes.”

“Say it, Vila, promise me.”

“Avon, I won’t betray you! I can’t believe you need to ask! Come on, cuddle down and sleep, would you? It’s all okay, I promise it is … ”

He cuddled down, but not to sleep. He kissed Vila into a different kind of wakefulness, kissed and caressed until Vila writhed beneath him, frantic, delicious, needy.

“Avon, Avon, please, I … oh God, Avon … ”

He sounded so real. So truthful. Like he meant every word that he poured into Avon’s ears, every warming touch. Like he could even love Avon, despite everything that Avon was, everything Avon would always be.

But Anna had sounded so real too …

Avon didn’t know what to believe any more. 

Vila nuzzled his arm gently, trying for a cuddle. His mouth brushed over the little knitted scar and he licked it playfully, not understanding what it meant, not understand that the shudder was not one of pleasure.

Avon didn’t tell him.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the b7friday prompt "anniversaries"


End file.
